The Titans - Legacy
by Riddick writer
Summary: Dick Grayson is sent away by Bruce Wayne to find his parents' killer, but does not realize this is the start of something much larger. It's the start of a legacy - as five difficult lives come together to make the greatest sacrifice imaginable. Through blood, sweat, and tears they'll discover just what it means to truly exist. Rated T for now: Violent, graphic, and will be gory...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own the DC Universe or any of its characters. This story is for pure fun and the enjoyment of any readers it may have.**

**A second note is to **_**not**_** view this story as a cartoon. Rather, view it as a story taking place in the Universe of Christopher Nolan's **_**Dark Knight Trilogy**_** (but not actually). Meaning, this story is going to be as realistic as possible. The Teen Titans are real individuals, who must hide their identities and be held responsible for their actions. Read the story as if they and everyone else, were just like you or me.**

**Here's a warning: THIS STORY CAN AND WILL GET DARK. In fact, it may have an M rating by chapter 5 or 6. Thus, be prepared. **_**Trigger warning on this chapter, even!**_

**Also, I've determined the 'Titans' live-action show near cringe-worthy, so please do not compare that to this story either! HAHA. DC Universe's Titans is an ambitious attempt, but falls short in so many ways, especially in developing some of these beloved Titans. Robin is decent, I'll give it that! **

**Just think Dark Knight Trilogy/Marvel Universe/Real-People-Rather-Than-Cartoons when reading. It's intended to take place right outside your window, rather than in the care-free world of cartoons. **

**Lastly, I hope you enjoy!**

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_**Trigger warning on this chapter - Please be aware**_

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**Vendetta: Chapter 1**

_The Apprentice _

Dick Grayson struggled to fathom the idea of his mentor not taking to the streets for the past month. Gotham City _needed_ Batman. Batman _and _Robin.

When containing his frustrations in daily life, Grayson did well. When containing his frustrations with Bruce Wayne, it tended to be a different story. Right now, he intended to let that be known.

"A few days, sure!" he shouts into the darkness, his voice echoing on forever. With ease and muscle memory his feet find the narrow stone steps. He descends into the abyss at a brisk pace, the doorway's light fading behind him. "A week? Sure… Two weeks, I mean I guess—but that makes for one quiet Gotham!" His feet begin taking each step faster, his pace rapid now as he throws his arms out wide. "But a month?! Come on, Bruce! There's no way the city has been _this_ quiet!" Huffing, he leaps the final three steps and lands on a metal platform with a metallic, thud.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, the carefully carved-out cave stretched on for what looked to be a mile. Gloomy and cool, it housed several platforms and walkways suspended by cable. These catwalk-like paths were reinforced by steel support beams underneath, but the cave's dark made it seem as if the paths floated. If not for the fact that each walkway was bordered by a well-lit strip of lights, the cable would be invisible too, and the façade would be undetectable. The walkway lights resembled those in a movie theatre, or those on an airplane in the event of an emergency.

The metallic platforms connected by these walkways varied in size, despite each walkway hardly being wide enough for a single person. Various silhouettes could be made out thanks to the floor lighting, such as the bat mobile to Grayson's far left. To the far right, a sheen of glass. Display cases housing replacement suits, equipment and criminal memorabilia.

Still not receiving an answer from the cave's inhabitant, Grayson presses forward along the centermost path. It served as the longest and most direct route to the super-computer in the distance. The enormous monitor's blue glow illuminated the furthest platform in its entirety. Per usual, Wayne was parked in the middle chair. Grayson could recognize that posture and broad shoulders from anywhere, be it party, banquet, or rooftop.

Grayson's shoes clanking faster and faster across the metal grating, Wayne does not move. "What is it?" Grayson asks, expecting a response. "Someone escape from Arkham?"

Once his hazel eyes accommodate the computer's powerful glare, the behemoth of a monitor becomes bearable and he can see what his mentor is examining. Grayson stops at the edge of the catwalk and folds his arms. After reading, his brows raise.

_It's just… archives. He's just reading… old crime reports. _

"I don't mean to run you up a wall—but you haven't reached out in a month." Unfolding his arms, Grayson steps closer to his silent mentor. "I know you wanted me to focus on college and things but—"

Wayne cut him off by spinning the chair around. Dark-graying hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot and lips dry, he looked more homeless than billionaire. Such happened when one sat staring at a screen three times his height for extended periods of time. Such a beast of technology had that effect. Grayson had learned from personal experience, when the two had night-long stakeouts in the bat cave. But those days were in the past, apparently.

"Bruce, you look— awful. Are you alright?" Grayson asks, his eyes widening.

Wayne swivels back to the computer. "I'm fine. How's school going?"

Suspicion sinks its teeth deep into Grayson. _Liar_, he thinks to himself.

"School's going fine," he answers, his vision wandering up to the computer screen. All four of the crime reports on the massive screen were petty robberies. Automobile thefts, jewelry, and a liquor store. None of which would draw any interest from the Batman. He only dealt justice when necessary. "I'm passing everything," Grayson continues, absent-mindedly, his focus elsewhere.

"Good. Keep it up."

His vigilante mentor's lack of interest in Grayson's studies was normal. Grayson assumed Mr. Wayne only pretended to care about college as a way of making small talk. Just like he did with guests at charity events, by reading the _Gotham Times _and regurgitating recent news. College success seemed to be more Alfred's cup of tea. The old butler had urged Grayson to enroll just about two years ago, at Gotham Technical. The result, at least to Grayson, had been less than stunning. Grayson did not know what sort of career he wanted to pursue. While law enforcement appeared promising at a glance, his identity as Robin led him to believe that such a pursuit would prove futile. As Robin, he could act above the law for the sake of justice. As a measly police officer, he would watch criminals go free daily. Such was a fate and stature in society, that he did not prefer.

On a bright note, college had improved his social life. Starting college after turning 21 helped that.

Almost a minute of silence passes before Wayne speaks again, "I have something you might find interesting."

"Okay," Grayson says, sparing the concentrated billionaire a glance. "Let's see it," he finishes, forgetting his laments to look up at the screen.

With a tap of his finger, Wayne dismisses the petty crime reports for a nightmare.

The headline alone sent titanium claws raking down Grayson's spine. The kind that dug in and continued to reverberate as warm, pulsing waves of nausea. His throat tightened to the point of suffocation, failing to swallow the lump welling inside. The various emotions housed by this nightmare galloped through him, relentlessly. Snakes started slithering in his stomach, blood boiled in his veins, and he clenched his jaw so tight, his teeth squeaked. Veins popping out along the sides of his neck, Grayson fights the urge to curse out loud as he stares at the headlines he knew by heart.

The headlines read the following: _**Parents of Amazing Acrobat Family "Flying Graysons" die after terrible accident, March. 2004 **_and _**Anthony 'Tony' Zucco expected to plead guilty in murder investigation involving the Flying Graysons, December 2005. **_

Rage pulsing rhythmically, as if it were his heartbeat, Grayson rips his eyes away from the computer. Staring down at his shoes, a single thought escapes his mind and vocalizes.

"Why are you reminding me of this?"

"Because Zucco was never found," Wayne answers plainly, undaunted by the venom in Grayson's tone. "You know the story well enough. By Christmas of that year, Tony Zucco was no longer a name in Gotham. I searched everywhere after his conviction… but he vanished." He turns to meet Grayson's hostile stare with a calm expression. "Until now."

Resisting the beast roaring within, Grayson lets out an enormous sigh. Then grinds his teeth back together for a few moments, thoughts raining torrentially within his head. All he can manage to say, comes out as a hiss, "Where?"

"Far from Gotham City," Wayne mutters, returning to the computer to adjust what they're seeing. The display shifts to an image of Zucco in court with a detailed list of notes. "Apparently, he found shelter among friends on the west coast. In Jump City, California to be specific. It's a sub-section of San Francisco. According to rumors and a recent encounter I had with an old friend of his… he took on the alias Angelo Rossi and moved." With another tap of Wayne's index finger, a new image appears on the computer. This one is clearly more recent. Zucco's complexion and dark hair had faded into a stout man with a shaved head and beard. But his hard, unforgivable face remained the same. The same one that haunted Grayson's dreams.

Seething, Grayson clenches both fists and starts pacing in a small circle. After reaching the zenith of his pacing, he comes to a halt and stares at his mangled reflection in the metal flooring.

He bows his head. "Bruce… How long have you known this," he whispers, dark bangs reaching down his forehead, just shy of covering his eyes. He could feel his mentor's gaze burning into him but refuses to acknowledge the look. Revenge had stolen his attention.

As if not for an eternity, Bruce Wayne stands, causing his knees to crack and echo throughout the cave. "For a little more than three weeks. I was waiting for the right time to tell you."

Grayson throws his arms out wide in exasperation, his slight bangs bouncing clear of his face as he looks up. "The right time would have been right away, Bruce! As soon as you found something out you should have told me! Do you know how long I've been searching for a lead!?"

"For the last nine years."

"The last _nine _fucking years and now that you found something, you hold out on telling me…? Come on!"

The billionaire turns away from his apprentice, his shoulders stiffening. "I didn't mean to—"

"I can't believe you," Grayson yells, cutting him off and slicing an arm through the air. "At the very least we'll go get the son of a bitch, right?"

Wayne groans. "I can't leave Gotham that long… Something could happen. People could get hurt."

Fire ready to burst through his essence, Grayson opens his mouth to yell further, but comes up empty. Gentle as a butterfly's touch, common sense had landed on him and soaked up the sea of rage. He understood.

"So that's it. You want me to go and do this on my own?" His tone came out harder than intended.

"About time you figured that part out," Wayne says, as he hunches over to type further on the oversized keyboard.

Grayson lets out a chuckle and puts his hands on his hips. "Bruce, I don't know if I'm ready to just leave Gotham and bail on coll—"

"—You are," Wayne interrupts, snatching his attention back. "Gotham doesn't have a need for both of us right now. The west coast is a different story."

Grayson chuckles, "Oh okay, so this is your way of getting rid of me… Isn't it?" Wayne ignores the question, to which Grayson nods. "Right. Of course. Batman works alone and all that shit."

A map of Jump City, California appears on the bat computer. "That's not what I—"

"No really, it's okay, Bruce. I get it," Grayson says, taking a few steps back. His eyes drift up to the map. It resembles a labyrinth of epic proportions, like a map of Gotham. "You don't need my help anymore," Grasyson mutters, under his breath.

The billionaire whips to face him, his expression stern. "I heard that and that's _not _what I said. Damn it." He steps forward and stabs a finger into Grayson's chest. "I found your parents' killer! Now do something I never could!"

A slate of metal shaved down Grayson's spine as realization hit like the dawn of a new day. Heat resonating within his chest, Grayson swallows.

"And bring him in?"

Wayne grips his shoulders. "Yes. Bring him to justice." If possible, the billionaire's vice-like grip tightens. "You should leave as soon as possible. I have a lead for you." Wayne releases his pupil and reaches behind himself to tap another key. A red dot blares to life on the digital map of Jump City behind him. "I'll send the location to your cell phone. If you start your search there, you'll be off to a good start." Wayne rubs his eyes. "Trust me."

Speechless, Grayson stares up at the flashing dot. Stunned with reality spinning around him; the mix of commanding emotions seem to have the same effect as alcohol. Despite believing his mentor and what he said, something poked at the back of his mind. Something he thought about often.

"Thanks Bruce, I'll leave tonight." Grayson makes eye contact with his mentor and foster parent, his heartbeat spiking. "You don't expect me to come back, do you?"

Wayne does not dignify the question with an answer. Just grim silence.

"That's what I thought. You may have taken me in… but you never really cared about the parenting part." Grayson nods and turns away, while Wayne furrows his brows. "You had the means to be them… You just never were… _them…_"

"Dick, I—"

Grayson starts walking, his stride unstoppable. "Save it, Bruce. Maybe this will all work out and we'll both get what we want." In record-breaking time, Grayson reaches the stairs and starts his ascent. Aware that Bruce Wayne is still watching, he throws his arms out wide once more. "You've always been party boy extraordinaire, Bruce Wayne! I get it! Batman is just how you live with yourself!"

His mentor doesn't defend himself.

Upon reaching the light at top of the long, winding staircase Alfred meets him in the doorway. Old and feeble, the butler still grants Grayson the kindliest of smiles. Despite such warmth, Grayson storms past the butler.

Alfred reaches out helplessly, "Master Grayson! Is everything all right?"

* * *

_The Butler_

"He's on his way. I left out the details… so he'll have lots of questions."

Alfred could only shake his head in disbelief. For three decades he had looked over and cared for the Wayne family. Bruce had been the most difficult to deal with. Where other members of the family had gone above and beyond, Bruce reached for the stars. All while being a bachelor who refused to grow out of his ways, and yet, wanted to bear the weight of a metropolis by himself. The middle-aged Wayne remained a recluse celebrity in a dangerous, ever-changing city. None of it stirred well. Nor did it help Alfred sleep at night, for that matter.

The butler watched his master silently, waiting for the proper moment to speak. Bruce remained in front of the bat computer with a cell phone pressed to his ear, so the butler would mark this down as hour eighteen.

"He'll be traveling by motorcycle, expect him within the week." Bruce swivels the chair to face Alfred, half of his haggard appearance obscured by the lack of light. "Knowing him, it'll be about three or four days."

Alfred presents the billionaire a frown, to which Bruce averts his gaze. The butler found himself annoyed. He could not decipher which cell phone Bruce was using. The billionaire kept about ten around for Batman's sake.

"Okay… right… just know he left here upset. He'll be distant at first… And likely difficult to persuade."

Alfred exhales the weight of the world upon connecting the dots. Bruce spoke of Dick Grayson and how the young ward was embarking on a cross-country road trip. Which meant no more college, no formal education, and potentially no return from crime fighting. Exactly the type of future the butler had hoped to avoid for the young man he and Bruce had raised.

"Thanks Gerald, call me if you need anything." Bruce hangs up the phone and smiles at the butler. The same smile he uses on women in the ballroom, playful and mischievous. "Alfred?"

"Bruce, tell me you didn't send the boy on some goose chase."

Wayne runs a hand through his coarse hair. "It's no goose chase." When the butler looks unimpressed, Wayne loses the smiling to explain further. "Seriously. Zucco's out there and the kid's headed in the right direction." Bruce sighs, "This isn't the mistake you think it is."

"Master Grayson is hardly a child anymore," Alfred retorts, arthritis causing his right hand to shake. "He's a grown man. One that you raised and need by your side now more than ever. How much more do you think that body of yours can take?" There's no response, only the bat computer's endless hum. "You may not realize it, but that boy was the future! You've shown him evil and have taught him how to react. The boy was capable, smart, resourceful even!" The butler's face softens, "What he needed was a chance to solve things his own way."

"He never would have been a cop, Alfred…"

"Nor would he ever have been a vigilante if it weren't for you, Master Wayne." The butler grips the catwalk's cool, smooth railing for support; his right hand continuing to shake. "Actions have consequences. You sent him after the man that killed his parents. Now think of the consequences. This could change him forever."

"You're saying I shouldn't have told him?" Bruce puts a hand over his face and chuffs. "That not how I do things. He had a right to know."

"Of course, he did," the butler agrees, surprising Bruce. "You acted by telling him and now must live with the consequences." Alfred raises his brows, his forehead wrinkles intensifying. "And in turn, young Master Grayson will now take action… and live with that action's consequences."

Bruce nods to himself, rubbing the unkempt stubble growing along his jaw. After concentrated deliberation, he removes his hand and meets Alfred's stare.

"The kid will do the right thing."

* * *

_The Apprentice_

_Three days later... _

Grayson sped along Interstate-80 on his red Yamaha motorcycle. The engine's ring wailed through the empty night air, as if the cycle were a wolf howling to mark its territory rather than a vehicle transporting him through upper Nevada. The bike's smooth handling and nimble speed had stolen Grayson' heart three years ago, when he bought it brand new in Southern Gotham, close to Bludhaven. The purchase itself took place thanks to Wayne, but since then, Grayson had fashioned the bike into his own. With his own hands he customized and molded it into the flashy beauty most saw it as today. Especially the women at Gotham Technical.

Despite riding for more than nine hours straight today, excluding necessary stops for fuel and brief rest; he still felt comfortable. If only the Nevada countryside bore any semblance of interest along the stretch of highway he rode. The land to either side was dotted with shrubs and rocks, but no trees. In daylight there would have been mountains reaching for the heavens, but at night they were hidden in place of stars. Numerous and endless across a black sea. Despite the lack of scenery, the sheer beauty of the open road established itself as a true place of solace for Grayson over the years. He could ride on forever.

He had a destination though. And even considered calling Wayne to ask about the location plugged into his phone. That idea he disregarded, quickly.

"_A selfish enigma"_ is how Grayson had described the billionaire to people in college. Especially at bars, once people recognized him as the billionaire's ward. Like the road, Grayson found bars as another place to escape reality. When recognized though, reality tended to find him there. Drunk and annoyed, usually.

The motorcycle let out a slight sputter as anticipated by its rider. In his rushed pre-trip planning, Grayson had highlighted gas stations along his route to California to accelerate the voyage. This refuel would be his second to last stop.

In the distance, the gas station's light stood independent from the darkness threatening to swallow it. As if a lighthouse to a ship seeking refuge. That refuge would serve more than just the motorcycle though, as Grayson's stomach let loose a ferocious growl. Travelling fast had its perks. Proper meals did not fall into such perks.

Grayson closes the distance to the gas station in under a minute, makes a right turn into the parking lot, and rolls to a stop alongside one of the stations' five dim-lit pumps. The squat, stone building ahead displayed a faded red-white sign that read: '_Mobil X – Nevada's Finest'_. Through the wrap-around glass windows, Grayson could make out a single register inside, with an older man seated behind the counter. The old cashier's rusty pick-up was the only vehicle in the parking lot.

Grayson dismounted and shuts off the bike, his legs tingling from the bike's constant vibration. As he grips both sides of his helmet for removal, high beams suddenly flash behind him. Spinning, he catches sight of a red car with a Utah license plate pulling in two pumps away. Through the helmet's smoky visor, he watches a pretty woman about his age, emerge from the vehicle and flash him a smile. He gives a lazy wave in response.

He then retrieves his wallet from his jean pocket and sets to work on the pump monitor's requests. In a matter of thirty seconds, he's inserting the gas nozzle into his Yamaha's gas tank when another car joins the late-night party. It creeps to a stop between him and the young woman. Of the two middle aged men inside, only one gets out while the other stares down into his lap. Most likely at a cell phone, Grayson guesses.

With his back to Grayson, the man attempts to make conversation with the woman as he saunters over to gas pump 3, on the opposite side of the pump she's using. "Beautiful night isn't it," is all Grayson can make out over the drum of gas pumping through the hose. When it clicks to a stop, he places the nozzle back onto the pump, removes his helmet, and walks inside the dingy gas station.

The store's well-lit interior and layout matched most gas stations, but Grayson found this surprising due to the building's exterior. Several aisles of near anything you could need on the road, from food items to basic auto care products, lined the store. To Grayson's left, the register and near-sleeping cashier whose name tag read: '_Pete'_. The slouching man wore a sky-blue wind breaker stretched tight across his round belly, his white hair thinning, and his chins drooping. To Grayson's right, an ATM and abused-looking gambling machines. _Because Nevada doesn't have enough of those. _

Wandering the store for something to eat does not take long. Grayson selected two bags of beef jerky, two bananas, and a Red Bull energy drink for good measure. When Grayson steps up to the counter, the man from outside enters the store and greets Grayson with a curt nod. He grants a half-smile and nods at the stranger in return, then raps a knuckle on the counter to get Pete's hazy attention. Pete had been staring straight past him, zoned out. As if on something far more important. It's as Grayson checks back over his shoulder at the man who just walked in, that the man starts to move.

"Oh sorry," the cashier says, rising from his chair slower than a tortoise. "I didn't see you there." His dry lips form a pursed smile as he hobbles up to the register.

While Pete the cashier scans the items, Grayson allows his eyes to wander the backwall. Liquor, cigarettes, and lottery tickets galore served as decoration, as if an inviting rainbow rather than addictive vices. Grayson had smoked a cigar or two with Bruce before, but had never fallen into the trap otherwise. And smoking a cigar with Bruce Wayne equated to one extremely expensive cigar. Smirking to himself at the thought, Grayson's eyes wander down to the surveillance monitor behind Pete. The small screen was divided into four squares, each a different camera mounted somewhere on the premises. One focused on the register, in which Grayson could see himself, one outside where the woman still stood at gas pump 4, and two cameras inside the store.

"Gas on pump 1?" Pete asks, his mouth remaining ajar after doing so.

Grayson shifts his focus back to Pete. "Yeah."

He hands Pete a credit card. After one swipe through the card reader, the credit card is returned, and Pete begins bagging the items. The old man looked out the window a total of three times during the process. When finished, he handed over a single plastic bag filled with Grayson's purchases.

"Alright young man, you have a nice rest of the night now, drive safe."

"Thanks," Grayson replies, then stops before turning away, "If it's not too much trouble, I'm going to use the restroom before I head out."

"Have at it," Pete says, pointing a crooked a finger to the back corner of the store. "First door on the right … down that hallway."

Nodding, Grayson strides over to the bathroom and nearly collides with the store's third occupant as he emerges from the restroom. He reeked of sweat, faint cologne, and had a rugged look.

"Sorry 'bout that," the man grunts, before sliding past Grayson. Grayson catches the man's conversation again, before entering the bathroom.

"Hey Pete, how's it going. I got gas on pump 4, want to—"

Grayson does not hear the rest as he steps inside the surprisingly clean bathroom. For a gas station restroom, it shined. Plopping his purchased items on the green counter next to the sink, he moves to the urinal and unzips the front of his jeans. While relieving his body, what sounds like a tire screech emits from outside, getting Grayson to jump a bit. He's thankful to learn that he did not pee on himself when stepping away from the urinal.

Washing his hands and grabbing his items, Grayson departed the restroom to find an empty store. Other than Pete, of course. Approaching the exit, Grayson spared the slouched Pete one last look, but found his vision focused on something of _intrigue_ instead. The surveillance monitor no longer displayed the parking lot camera. It had gone black.

Grayson reached the glass door and peers outside. No woman and no man. Just the bald man sitting passenger side in the silver impala, still parked at pump 3. And the woman's red car at pump 4.

Grayson meets the cashier's glossy eyes with his own. "Where's the girl?"

"She went to the bathroom," Pete says, smiling so that his yellow teeth show. He let out a small chuckle, the type that makes one skin crawl. "Did you want to ask her out on a date?" The old man hunches over to cough. "You seem the… type. Heh."

"Something like that," Grayson answers, humoring the guy. He then pushes his way out the door and into the humid Nevada night.

Immediately, Grayson catches sight of the bald man looking up at him. Just for a moment, but a moment was long enough to launch a hot flash of discomfort through Grayson. He _doubted_ that blonde woman was in the bathroom.

When Grayson made it to his Yamaha, he tucks the purchased goods into the brown duffle bag secured to the rear of the bike and sighs. Lifting the shiny, black motorcycle helmet up and then down over his face, Grayson goes to sit on the bike, but freezes instead. He looks up at the eroded station and waits close to a minute. Not seeing the woman inside, his decision is made, officially. _Something was wrong and it was obvious. _

Grayson walks around his Yamaha and moves toward the silver Impala. When he reaches the passenger side of the vehicle without the man inside noticing, he taps the glass window with a knuckle. As if Grayson were a tyrannosaurus-rex, the man jumps in his seat, shaking the entire car. He then gathers himself and rolls down the window with a sour expression.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he demands, thick brows furrowed.

Grayson waits to speak, as he studies the man through the helmet's visor. Age lines are clear and he's wearing a nicer button-up shirt with black suspenders. And based on his anxiety, he wanted to see Grayson's face. The helmet's visor served the stranger only as a mirror.

"Uh, yeah actually," Grayson lets out a nervous laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Do you know where that girl went," he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the woman's red car. "Beauties like her are a bit of a commodity… where I'm from."

The bald man turns to look out the other side of the Impala, as if checking to see if the woman was there. _He knew she wasn't. _

"Uh no, I actually don't know," he turns back with a sly smile. "She was a looker though, eh? I'll let her know you were looking for before we head out. How's that sound?"

Grayson did not need to hear anymore.

He turned his back on _'Baldy'_ and started walking to the far-left side of the gas station, where the light barely touched. Behind him the car door opens, then slams.

"Hey, wait," the stranger calls. "Hey! Wait up! Have you—"

Grayson's stride increases, his pursuer's steps getting faster in response.

"Hey jackass, stop! Seriously, don't go back there!"

Despite the helmet visor's tinted glass and the gas station's poor lighting, Grayson could watch the stranger's shadow start to merge with his. It's as Baldy's shadow is about to consume his—that he strikes with a vicious, backward elbow. With a resounding _crack_, he breaks the man's nose, instantly. Baldy crumples to the pavement groaning, holding his face in blood and tears. Grayson left him there and continued around the side of the gas station.

Near the back of the building he makes out a shabby chain link fence, a dumpster, and something else of import. The woman's pink shirt, lying in a clump. Alarm rockets through his being. He speeds around the back corner of the building and discovers his fear to be true. The man he passed in the store did have sinister intentions this night. Horrific intentions.

Straight ahead of Grayson, that man stood with a handgun pointed at the woman. Trembling, she was looking down and fumbling to remove her bra. The scene resembled something out of a sick, horror film. The irrevocable experience she would have of this night would be awful, but it would be worse had Grayson not arrived when he did. She knew that when she looked up.

Seeing Grayson, her blue eyes went so wide that they threatened to fall from her face. Had her mouth not been sealed by duct tape, she probably would have let out the wildest plea for help fathomable. Or screamed so loud that a nearby boulder shattered. Instead, her pleading stare alerted the man to Grayson.

The would-be rapist attempted to bring the pistol to bear on Grayson one-handed; but Grayson had ran forward to close the gap between them.

With a side-step out of the gun's path, Grayson had positioned himself perfectly for a knee straight to the gut. Gasping in surprise, the gun flies free from the assailant's grip as the man doubles over. Back pedaling, he rights himself quicker than expected, but continues to wheeze for oxygen. Still wide-eyed, the woman watches from a safe distance, with her mostly bare back pressed against the building's brick.

"Little shit," the thug grunts, then charges with the widest punch Grayson had ever seen. He dodges it with ease, then seizes hold of the man's shoulders, and headbutts the would-be rapist in the face, _hard_. Blood gushes free as the man crashes to the pavement, motionless.

_Now came the worst part. Caring_.

Sighing, Grayson crouches next to the bloodied assailant and checks his pulse. Beneath his fingers, he detected a quiet, steady heartbeat. _Good, the piece of shit is still breathing. _

Looking up from his position beside the man, Grayson's finds the woman's blank stare drilling into him. "I'm sorry this happened to you," he says rising and approaching her. Legs shaking, she remains frightened and seemingly ready to flee. It's when Grayson yanks the duct tape from her face that she gasps in relief, then covers her mouth. "I'm also sorry if that hurt," Grayson states, giving her a weary smile that she could not see.

The woman examines the unconscious man, then whips to Grayson, as if she were a skittish wild animal. "God bless you," she huffs, wrapping arms around him for a brief hug. She pulls away quickly, as if out of breath. "I t-thought that he was going to… you know—"

"Unfortunately, yeah… I do," Grayson finishes, his eyes shifting back to her attacker. "Some things you should know," Grayson says, walking back to the unconscious man.

"Like what things? Do you know this guy?"

Bending over, Grayson sifts through pockets until locating a wallet and more importantly, the driver's license inside.

"No, but the guy's name is Sergio Romano, 38 years old. He and his friend drove in here tonight in a silver Impala with California plates, number is 6TSW587." Grayson stood and returns to the woman. "Got that, so far?"

She nods rapidly, "Erm yes, but how did you know to find me back—"

"Here? Come on, walk with me and I'll tell you." Grayson started leading the way around the building without waiting for her. She follows, solemnly. "There were a few things that didn't add up. The part that really got me is when the cashier said you were in the bathroom." He stops to pick up her shirt, during which she catches up to him. Eagerly, she takes it from him and throws it on over her messy blonde hair. It looked as if she had wrestled a tiger, rather than a man.

When Grayson resumes their walk to the parking lot, she voices her disbelief. "Wait, are you saying the cashier inside the store was in on it?"

"Bingo." Stepping back into the light of the parking lot, the first thing he notices is the missing Impala. "Three men involved altogether," he concludes, stopping to turn and face her. "And one of them is right there." He nods his head toward the building, where Pete is watching intently with his hands pushed against the glass window.

"Thank you so much, for saving me…" she says, minding Pete with a glare of her own. "Um –Mister?" Her blue eye sift back to him. "I'm sorry… I don't think you ever gave me your name?"

"My name isn't important. What is important is that you call 911 and report what just happened here." Hesitantly, she starts feeling about for her cell phone. "When you're safely away from here," Grayson adds, sparing the stunned Pete another look. "Does that make sense?"

"And tell them what you told me back there, yes absolutely. Thank you so much for... rescuing me from that tonight. I'll…" she inches away, still staring at him, as if searching for the right words. Then finally finds them, "I'll never forget you and uh, I think the helmet will help with that."

He gives her a thumbs up. "Awesome, now get somewhere safe and call the police on these clowns."

That gets her moving. Only when the taillights of her vehicle disappear down the highway does Grayson turn back to Pete, who still has not left the window. He gives the accomplice a one finger salute with his middle finger, retrieves his motorcycle, and rides off into the night.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews both positive and negative are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, apologies as this chapter has a little bit of a dark start - want to prepare us for the journey's grizzly reality! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I do not own the DC Universe or any of its characters. This story is for pure fun and enjoyment of any readers it may have.**

**Just think Dark Knight Trilogy/Marvel Universe/Real-People-Instead-Of-Cartoons when reading. It's intended to take place right outside your window, rather than in the care-free world of cartoons.**

**Please be advised this story can be dark and above all, strives to be realistic. **

**Lastly, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Vendetta: Chapter 2**

_The Foreigner_

The setting sun's weakened rays of light spilled into the room, warm and faded. Since her office faced west, overlooking the San Francisco Bay, this afternoon sun bath was an everyday occurrence she looked forward to. Every so often, she would lounge in the room's center along the gray carpet like a cat, just to soak up the rays and warm herself. She had napped in said spot on occasion. Thankfully, she had locked the office door for those instances. She found it hard to believe anyone would think too highly of the Assistant Communications Director should they find her snoring on the office floor.

This particular day had matched most work days for the young woman: Long, busy, and annoying. She could always leave early if she wanted. That wisp of temptation had crept into her head today, a little over two hours ago, but she had resisted and now only thirty minutes of the workday remained. For that, she was grateful.

The Friday had started with a morning "Market" meeting at 9am, during which the company board discussed potential clients, business trends, and strategies. It grew cumbersome, especially since senior board member Earl always found a way to say, "Let's take a look at the lay of the land," every meeting when referencing customers. Today, all seemed normal until the latter half of the meeting. The second half of today's discussion, the board criticized the lack of effective solicitation done by employees within the company. She disagreed with the idea of solicitation given market conditions and found the board's attack on Customer Service employees quite unnecessary. Making small talk in hopes of a far-fetched sale did not sound beneficial to her. It just sounded wasteful. Why should CS representatives have to persuade someone to add to their order when they're already spending thousands if not millions? Didn't persuading people to have an interest in more purchases fall under Sales jurisdiction? She found herself wondering about this a lot recently, as the two departments had been exchanging blows like men in a boxing match.

After the meeting, her office became a hot spot for internal visitors. Her first visitor arrived just as she finished reading through emails, and that caught her off guard. It had been the CEO, Gerald Fox, that entered her office. That conversation had not been related to the industry, but the rest of the day had pushed that conversation to the back of her mind. Still, she could not help but be eager about it.

Following the CEO, she dealt with a company seller, company attorney, and four account specialists. All of these people stepped into her office prior to noon and somehow, were justified in doing so. This industry annoyed her when people found a way to request something of her five different ways. Not because of the workload or stress, but because of the helplessness. Of the four account specialists she had seen today, only one actually needed her input. The others had made something out of nothing.

Thankfully, the afternoon had slowed and she was able to accomplish some research regarding a newer company product. Said product had been sold to seventeen different clients and overall, had great reviews. She had forwarded the good news onto her peers in PR, encouraging them to write and produce an article on the product's success. They would find a way to harvest the information and make something of it via advertising. Classic, Corporate America she had learned.

Now here she sat, letting out a sigh that she swore shook the walls of her office, her eyes wandering along the width of her desk. Resting at the base of her left computer monitor, was an orange book titled: _Foreign Destinations: Wonders of the World. _Her eyes locked onto the book and her mind went blank. She longed to submerge herself back into the carefully written guides on what to-do and see in New Zealand, but more importantly, the book was out of place. This disturbed her.

Rising from her seat, she picks up the book and walks around the left side of the desk, pausing to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window. While at first uncomfortable that a fourth of the walls in her office were glass, the view stole her breath more than once a day. From the Golden Gate Bridge to the Bay's sparkling ripples, it just had that effect. And she would not change a thing about it.

Crossing the room's threshold to reach the ornate bookcases across from her desk, she found the book's home quickly. Then she stopped to admire her own work. The way the books were organized alphabetically left to right, across all three separate furniture pieces, with indexing laminated where needed on each shelf. That type of organization she loved. If only it could spread to all parts of her life, specifically, her work emails.

Smiling to herself, she drifts her attention to the plants adorning the corners and surfaces of her office. While not real, they definitely looked the part. She described them as the greatest little actors she had ever met to the CEO this morning. He had laughed at that, then pressed the conversation onto more serious matters. Matters that concerned her future. Matters that concerned her true purpose here.

She raises her right hand toward her face, palm open and squints. A warmth flooded through her, as if a campfire had ignited within her chest. It pressed against her insides, as if trying to escape in the form of a yawn, but she would not allow it. It demanded an emotional discharge for company. Instead, her current calm shaped it. The end result resonates as a small snowglobe-sized orb of light, shimmering emerald green in her open palm. Observing her own ability, the CEO's words refurbished in her mind…

_"Kori, it's time. It's time to do what we brought you here to do. He'll be here today." _

* * *

_The Apprentice_

The lead provided by Bruce Wayne must be a fake or have a catch. Dick Grayson had decided this upon seeing his destination in person. Prior to arriving, he had looked up the address via internet and was not surprised to find news articles about the brand-new building. It seemed the type a mobster could attempt robbing or extorting, but that would be extremely difficult considering the structure's fresh existence. Then he thought of the alternative option and had been grimacing ever since. The alternative being that his parents' killer had worked his way into one of the most lavish, corporate headquarters Grayson had ever seen. Whichever case, neither option satisfied Grayson.

Waiting at a red-light atop his Yamaha, surrounded by ceaseless bumper to bumper three-lane traffic, he was left to stare out across the majestic San Francisco Bay. The view itself breathtaking, with massive bridges, glass-like water, and a brilliant red-orange sunset casting its dying light, a certain island stood out.

It reminded Grayson of Alcatraz Island, though he did not have a clue where the old prison was located. Small and uninteresting, the island was no greater than three or four football fields in any direction and from where he sat up on a coastal rise, the island seemed to contain more cars than vegetation. The miniature sea of cars were parked at the base of the structure, the large parking lot conjoining with a bridge stretching from the coast to meet it. But the twenty to twenty-five story building probably drew the most eyes on this island.

Immaculate, it stood against the might of the San Francisco skyline unfazed. The entire upper exterior in glass and the dizzying height - the amount of money someone had to waste to construct such a marvel resembled Wayne Enterprise architecture. Most notable about this shining, glass monstrosity had to be its shape. The first twenty or so floors formed a natural tower, but from there it stretched out over the island. The building was shaped as a giant 'T'.

At long last, the streetlight shifts to green, allowing Grayson and the many, many San Franciscans to proceed. Riding down the hill at under thirty miles per hour and following traffic around the bend, he spots a rectangular grey-green sign reading: _Welcome to Jump City_. Jump City proper looked to be another mile up the coast, but the bridge to the 'T' tower on Grayson's left, was much closer. He turns onto the bridge with one other vehicle and notices the freshly painted road right away. This served as evidence enough for Grayson.

_Bruce sent me here for a reason… whether it's an actual lead remains to be seen. _

The parking lot near overflowing, Grayson settled with parking on the sidewalk next to the bike rack. Dismounting the motorcycle and looking up at the building in awe, he felt his stomach tighten in apprehension. Whatever he found inside would likely not be useful to his cause immediately. This meant he would have to take his time and execute patience. Too bad much of it had been spent on traffic already.

He removes his helmet, then dressed in riding gear: a leather jacket and jeans; strides along the sidewalk and into the architectural marvel. The lobby spread before him wide, clean, and flawless. The waiting area flanked the entranceway in the form of a dozen leather chairs and glass end tables. White or black, those were the two colors. Unless one counted the plants in the corners, or the golden oval engraved into the circular desk positioned at the lobby's center, at least fifteen yards away from the front door. The marble floor and front desk were excessive but matched the rest of the lobby's atmosphere. Exquisite and privileged.

Grayson made other keen observations right away. Something Batman had taught him. Always _know_, _recognize_, and _assess _your surroundings. He marked the exits, 4 elevators on either side of the lobby. Which made the building's population apparent when combined with the parked vehicles outside.

The 4 elevators on either side of the lobby made the building's population apparent. Two sets of staircases were nestled into the far back corners. Across the room from him and between the staircases, were floor to ceiling windows. In the center of the glass, a double set of doors leading to the welcoming terrace outside.

It made Grasyon somewhat sick. The lobby reminded him of a Wayne Enterprises building. Only it wasn't, for the golden oval engraved into the desk he approached read the following: _Titan Industries: Welcome to Titan Tower, our Corporate Headquarters. _So not a Wayne Enterprises building. It was a new breed of lavish.

Sitting within the circular desk, were four secretaries. All female, middle aged, and dressed for the part. As a matter of fact, two of them looked like they could be twins. Grayson was blinking, trying to determine such, when the front-facing secretary addressed him.

"Hello sir, what can we do for you today?" She met his gaze with pursed lips and raised brows. It appeared he was not the first clueless individual to wander into _Titan Tower _today.

Grayson opened his mouth to say something, but found himself scratching his head instead. He had not thought this through. "Hey there, I um… was just wondering if…" His pause somehow makes the woman's eyes grow larger, as if she were the predator and he the prey. His resistance would be futile. His brain scrambled for ideas, one of the other receptionists turning to watch his painful silence. He meets her gaze and smiles, then faces his initial adversary, once more. "I'm here to see Mr. Rossi. Is he available? Tell him it's an old friend."

The two women exchange a look of confusion, before _Sarah_, he had read from her name tag, turns back to him. "Um, no sir… I don't believe we have a Mr. Rossi that works here. Did you mean Mr. Ricci in Logistics, by chance?" She read his expression too quickly for a response. "Or is there someone else I can help you find? What are you here for, exactly?"

_Interesting, he doesn't work here or Bruce gave me a bad lead, _Grayson internalized, _But with Bruce that's unlikely. There's something here I'm meant to find or see._

Grayson bit his lip and thought for a few moments. When collected, he gives Sarah a response to chew on, "Okay, I'm sorry… I'll just go make a quick call. Thanks," he says, then spins away from the desk. He only takes two steps when an exuberant voice sounds from one of the elevators to his right, drawing his attention.

"Don't mind our guest here, Sarah! He's actually here to see me!" An eccentric-looking man emerges from the elevator dressed in a fitted cobalt-blue power suit. The suit was complete with striped yellow tie, a Rolex watch, and pricey, leather dress shoes. His attire's formality and bright colors provided a nice contrast to his dark complexion and youth. Bold, but professional. Grayson guessed the man to be in his early thirties, as he watched him approach. Somewhat lanky and long-legged, the man seemed to bound over the space between Grayson and himself. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of Grayson and shoves his hands into his pockets. His warm-amber eyes betray nothing as he examines Grayson from head to toe. Those same eyes stop when they meet Grayson's uncertainty. "Mr. Grayson… it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he exclaims, just before snatching Grayson's hand into a handshake.

Grayson found himself impressed. Facing down the man's pearly-white smile with one of his own, he wonders if he could have prevented the handshake had he wanted to. The stranger had been surprisingly swift.

"Thanks, it's nice to meet you too, Mr－ "

The man cuts him off, "You can call me, Gerald. Gerald Fox, CEO and President of Titan Industries." He let the words sink in for effect, then turns his head toward the women at the front desk, all of whom were watching with wide eyes. "And Lover of _Titan Tower_, as these ladies like to call me."

The women at the lobby's desk all let out a hoot of laughter, getting Gerald to grin with glee.

Meanwhile, Grayson pieced the puzzle together in his head. This Fox, was likely a relative of Lucius Fox, given the building's eerily-similar design to a Wayne Industries structure. So Bruce and Lucius arranged this meeting between the two of them. _And neglected to inform me_, Grayson thought bitterly. The realization felt like being hit by a baseball bat, and Grayson knew the feeling from experience. Literally.

"So, Mr. Fox," Grayson says, regaining the CEO's full attention. "You were expecting me?"

"Of course I was! Don't tell me Mr. Wayne left that part out?"

The mischief in those amber eyes did not lie. It only provoked Grayson's annoyance.

"He did, unfortunately," Grayson replies dryly, eyes scanning over to Sarah and the other receptionists. They gave the illusion of being reinvested in their work. "He gave me this address to find someone else, actually. Know anything about that?" He elected to not be as blunt this time. Since Sarah the receptionist's enlightenment remained so fresh.

Gerald shakes his head, then starts fingering his goatee as if in thought. "No, afraid he didn't mention that." He stops rubbing his chin, then gestures to their surroundings. "He said you were coming here for the grand tour. You know, show you the ropes, break you in? Get that internship going and those paychecks flowing?" When Grayson does not react, Gerald's spirits seem to sink. "Awe come on man, don't tell me he left you in the dark on that too? I swear that man has got a real way of telling people things…"

Grayson nods, "Yeah, that's for sure." He surveys the lobby another time, this time noticing the extravagant chandelier above them. "That being said, I uh, appreciate the offer and all …" he makes eye contact with the CEO again, "But I'm not interested in a tour. Or the internship. Do wish Bruce would have mentioned something about all that before I drove out here. But you seem to have a pretty good idea of what he's like." Gerald remains silent, his expression solemn. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Fox," he sighs, then shakes hands with the new acquaintance again. "Hopefully we meet again someday. Till then, take care."

Grayson frees the CEO from his grip and starts striding for the front doors with a mix of emotions. Behind him, he can hear Gerald entertaining the wave of surprise at the front desk. Understandable given that Bruce Wayne's ward Dick Grayson just turned down a job offer from the CEO of their business. That served as a full course meal of gossip in an office.

Outside, Grayson found the fresh air rejuvenating. It did little to quell his building rage, though. Bruce Wayne had lied to him. Set him up for some chump's way of saying "get a real job, I don't need you anymore". The billionaire could have fabricated the whole thing. Zucco could be overseas or in Mexico, but him being associated with _Titan Tower _seemed unfathomable. Yet Grayson refused to abandon the possibility. Bruce Wayne enjoyed making people _earn _the truth. Thus, he would surf the web extensively for the next few days, he decided. See if there were any crumbs or leads to follow.

Within a few steps of his motorcycle, the front doors of _Titan Tower_ whoosh open behind him. He spares a glance over his shoulder and frowns, immediately. Gerald Fox going for a stroll?

"Hey, wait up," Gerald calls, upon spotting him. The CEO's shoes start clacking against the concrete in Grayson's direction.

_Shit, _Grayson thinks to himself.

He starts to hurry his retreat by making it to the motorcycle and getting the helmet over his head, just before Fox shouts again.

"Dick Grayson! Seriously, man! Just a second more of your time," the CEO insists, his powerful stride closing the distance between them as quickly as it had in the lobby. He resembled a lion closing in on its kill. All confidence and determination. Grayson did not intend to let the lion have its satisfaction.

He mounted his motorcycle and began revving the bike. The engine's cozy purr just started seeping into his ears and his right foot was leaving the ground, when a name sliced through his existence. Like a katana through printer paper. Grayson's muscles stiffened and unconsciously, he shut off the bike, planting both feet on either side of the Yamaha.

"ROBIN!" The CEO calls out, a second time.

_Robin? How the hell does he know - _the train of thought got cut off too.

"Robin! Yeah, that's right…" the CEO slowed his pace to survey the parking lot, then continued his march toward Grayson along the sidewalk. "... I know who you are. Now get your ass off the bike and give me a minute! _Please_?"

As far as days full of surprises went, today had fostered into torture for Grayson. He hated surprises. Despite such, he did as he was bid by dismounting the motorcycle and removing his helmet. His expression quizzical.

In response, Gerald Fox smirks and stops in front of him. Less than a foot away. Grayson found the man's pleasure despicable, but said nothing. Nearly six years of caped crusading and never did fate put him in a situation like this. The thought was rewarding in that he had hid his secret identity well; but downright gut-wrenching given this exact moment.

_Bruce is going to answer for this one, _he resolves, starting to grit his teeth.

"Now, how about that grand tour with a little sprinkle of explanation on the side?" Fox tilts his head and raises his brows. "Sound good to you?"

"Fine," Grayson relents, his shoulders sagging.

* * *

Gerald Fox strolled through _Titan Tower _as if he were royalty. Every floor they toured, their stark contrast in attire and demeanor drew attention from all directions. Gerald maintained his care-free, approachable attitude while Grayson kept up his defenses. He did not know what to think or believe and that did not alter his circumstances. This cavalier individual beside him, the one with the greatest authority in the entire office, knew his secret identity. Grayson clung to the hope that he had this knowledge because Bruce Wayne or Lucius Fox had shared it with him. If Gerald had discovered this information any other way or by his own means at all, Grayson's life could be compromised in an instant.

And yet, Gerald Fox acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He played the part well. Excited and happy to provide a tour for the ward of a business partner. One might describe it disturbing. Grayson continued to tie it together in his head, recalling the extraordinary speed the man had demonstrated in the lobby. Physically and mentally gifted usually went hand-in-hand these days. _Meta-humans… _

Currently, the pair walked the perimeter of the 21st floor, along the building's western side. The awesome view of the bay went unhindered, naturally, as what should be a wall was instead a floor to ceiling window the length of the entire floor. The glare likely irritated many employees and anyone with a fear of heights probably could not be near the long window, but it showed off the company's affluence. As was probably the intention.

"So over there is Phil Hammond's office, he's our Chief Financial Officer. Most of the folks on this floor work with or directly under him. Some Accounts Receivable, Invoicing, Pricing … but mostly finances." Gerald walked closer to the window, the half-sun remaining of the day blasted enough light through the window to give the man a silhouette. Grayson had to squint whenever he wanted to make eye contact, so usually he followed Gerald's pointing index finger. "Phil is an extremely intelligent man. If you get the chance to catch him breathing between meetings and phone calls, I highly recommend saying "hi". Trust me. Oh and by the way, that's free advice."

Grayson chuckles, for the hundredth time/humoring his tour guide. "I believe it. You only hire smart guys, right?"

Fox snorts. "I don't know, you tell me. I'm thinking about hiring you." They reach the end of the window and corner of the floor, where one of the tower's two stairwells were nestled. "This is usually the part where you say something clever to convince me you're worth the company's time, by the way."

"I mean sure, you set me up well enough," Grayson replies, swiveling to face the man. "I'm worth the company's time because I have a 4.0 GPA and uh - let's drop the charade." Grayson steps into him, lowering his voice, "What do you want and why am I here?" Grayson leans in closer. "You don't just call me out like that unless you have a reason. So spill it." Fox folds his arms and raises his chin, as if assessing the threat. "Well?" Grayson asks, as he starts to tense, his muscles going taut. "Say something or I walk out of here."

"And do what? Find Zucco by yourself?"

A cold wave shudders through Grayson. "So you do know what I'm here for," he whispers, taking a step back. "How much more do you know? Is all of this coming from Bruce?"

Fox smirks but does not answer. He pushes the metal door into the stairwell open and stands there, holding it. "Let's head up to my office."

Grayson sighs, but gives in again. Clearly this man knew something or _was_ the lead Bruce Wayne had sent him to find. Grayson just felt like a pawn, and that pissed him off.

He followed the CEO up two levels, the primarily concrete stairwell echoing with each step. It seemed to the building's only eye sore. Everything else could be lavish, but the stairwell had to remain dark and dingy. Such matched what Wayne Enterprises did with their board rooms. Something had to take the fall.

Along the stairs, they passed two men wearing suits with wide-eyed expressions. What made them most memorable to Grayson, was that the CEO ignored them. The entire twenty minute tour of the building, Fox had greeted everyone. From janitor to executive. _Why the sudden change?_ Grayson hoped it meant the man was finally getting serious.

Striding after the CEO through the stairwell's/tower's highest and final door, he found himself unimpressed. _Way too much like Wayne Enterprises. _

The top floor of _Titan Tower _broke the norm/mold of previous floors. Rather than a maze of cubicles, computers, and desks surrounded by private offices or meeting rooms, the top floor had hallways. The stairs led them into one, the walls composed of mahogany paneling with pretentious paintings spaced every five or so yards apart. To their right, a floor to ceiling window and a dead end. To their left, the hallway extended for what looked to be the majority of the floor's length. Seeing as it was the only way to go without turning around, Gerald Fox starts off in that direction. His stride is more determined than before, if possible.

Following him, Grayson continues to observe. Eight steps down the hallway, it branches off to their left, leading to an elevator. Further down the hallway they pass an office door with the label "_Chief Financial Officer: Phil Hammond_". This gets Grasyon to stop and point.

"Hey," he says, waiting for Fox to turn around. "I thought Phil's office was two floors below us."

Fox grins. "That's Phil's other office... Now, come on. Day's ending and I do want to get home at some point." The man resumes his stride, leaving Grayson to shake his head and follow. Before reaching the hallway's end and arriving in a lobby of sorts, they passed another office and elevator. The most notable thing about the hallway - was that the right side wall - was all one office. Gerald Fox's office.

"Doris, how are you doing today?" The warmth and sincerity in Fox's voice slapped Grayson across the face. Sitting in a circular desk in the center of this make-shift lobby, was an older woman with dark, mousy brown hair. She wore a sky blue cardigan, reading glasses, and did not look the least bit busy. She did look important, though. Behind her desk, leather chairs and glass tables were tucked against the eastern wall - which was yet another floor to ceiling window. A glorified waiting area for the tower's most important guests.

Looking across to the opposite side of the top-floor lobby, another hallway started. One that looked identical to the one they had just emerged from. Likely the same layout. So whereas every other flood had eight elevators in total, this floor only had four.

Doris regards the two of them by lowering her glasses, her poker face immaculate. "Well I am here, Mr. Fox, if that's what you're asking. Is this the young man you were telling me about this morning?" She inspects Grayson as if she were an archaeologist placing a value on a distinguished finding. "Yep, looks just like you described him," she concludes, sounding resigned.

"Is that a good thing?" Grayson looks to Fox, then back to her. "Or a bad thing?"

Doris smiles, her overdrawn ruby lipstick expanding. "It's what you make of it," she says, spinning in her chair back to a binder she had opened. There she continued to work or at least appear busy, with her back to the two of them.

Fox knew that meant the conversation was over and gestures to the centermost door, directly across from the secretary's desk fortress. "Shall we?" Fox takes note of Grayson's nod, strides over to the door and pulls it open. Grayson walks into the office and discovers a new meaning to the word luxurious.

Over sized and excessive, the room dwarfed Grayson's own apartment in square footage.

Upon entering the private office, an ornate end table flanked by two magnificent red chairs caught his attention. Behind this cozy setup, a fully stocked bar called the office corner home. Complete with black stools and a teak wood counter. Scotch, whiskey, and vodka lined the shelves behind the bar, as well as various glassware. Opposite of this bar and chair lounge, to his immediate right, a pool table rested. The wall and office corner lined with more pool sticks than one could every need. Some were black, another silver, and one even looked to be gold. Grayson discerned such things were to entertain the frequent guests Gerald invited up. He somehow doubted Gerald used them himself. At least not often.

Passing the initial recreational areas on either side, the room took on a more professional appearance. Each side of the room hosted eight-foot tall bookshelves. Grayson did not peg Fox as the reading type, but found himself surprised when passing a black leather chair and ottoman with an open book, face-down. _The Fringe: Evolution of Mankind _the book was titled. These bookcases, four or six in total, hugged the walls until reaching the final section of the office. This final section of the lengthy office, contained a massive mahogany desk, with gold swirls etched into its front. It sat in front of a floor to ceiling window, polished so great, that one could see their own reflection in its surface.

Walking around the desk and sitting himself in a black leather chair, Gerald does not acknowledge the vibrant sunset behind him. Likely used to the glory of an office overlooking such beauty. Used to seeing the Golden Gate Bridge catch and reflect sunlight as if designed to do so.

Grayson just found the sun in his face revolting.

"So now that you've had the grand tour, what do you think," Fox asks, his expression elated. The building his company called headquarters would impress anyone, and that much he made clear with every movement.

Grayson sinks into one of two red leather chairs across from Fox. "It's grand all right," he replies, eyes wandering to the drink cart in the office corner. As large as the office was, it made sense to have it there. "Mind if I have one of those?" He nods his head in the direction of the cart, a few strands of dark hair bouncing forward. For a moment, he considers not pushing his hair back. It could offer a reprieve from the blinding sun… but he wanted to be cordial given his current situation. The very core of what he came out here to do had changed. He needed to know why. A little liquid help while attempting to learn, sounded quite welcome.

Fox spins in his chair toward the drink cart. There, a single bottle of Crown Royal and four short glasses sat. And an ice bin, of course. He turns back to Grayson as he rises, "Sure, I'll have one myself." He adds ice and pours two fingers worth in each glass, then returns, gesturing for Grayson to utilize the coasters sitting on the corner of his desk. When both drinks are set respectively before their owners, the men study one another.

Grayson takes the first sip and accompanies the action with a question, "So how do you know who I am?"

Fox narrows his eyes, then relaxes. "My Uncle told me. He and Bruce Waye are pretty close these days. Or should I say… Batman?" Grayson's discomfort showed more than he wanted, and Fox capitalizes. "Don't worry… the room isn't bugged or anything. Well, I shouldn't say that. What I mean, is you're not being recorded in any way shape or form. If you doubt me, feel free to put those detective skills to work, Robin."

_He's not lying, _Grayson thought to himself. Still, he did what the man suggested by casually scoping out his surroundings. Turning this way and that, he felt more comfortable. Or as much as one could, given the predicament.

"I trust you, if Lucius does," he announces, before taking another sip of his drink. While not his favorite, it sufficed.

"Good, then let's talk about why you're here. Bruce gave you _Titan Tower _as a lead to find Zucco, right?"

"Something like that," Grayson sighs, nursing the drink in hand. "He could have made things easier by just saying _Titan Tower, _but essentially, yes. He gave me the address and said it was a lead to find Zucco. He waited some time to tell me, though. I take it that was your doing? To set me up for whatever this is?"

Fox looked amused. "You're mistaking the mastermind behind all this. My Uncle and Bruce came up with the elaborate scheme." He pauses to take a sip, the glass rings as he sets it back down. "I'm just playing along because I agree with them."

_Not helpful. _

"Agree with them about what?"

"That this world needs some change."

Such a response, baits Grayson into taking another swallow of his drink. Fox copies him, with raised brows. Silence follows. For nearly a full minute.

"Alright, a bit of truth for you," Grayson says, his brow furrowing. "This is how I'm feeling." He nods encouragingly, then cuts to the chase. "Fuck the riddles. Just tell me about Zucco and where to find him. I'm not interested in some stupid internship I knew nothing about." That does not get the reaction Grayson intended. Fox just looks confused. "Bruce didn't tell me anything, by the way."

"You sure about that?" Fox asks, getting Grayson to frown in response.

"About Bruce not telling me anything? Yeah I'm pretty sure -"

"No, about the internship. It's not just some stupid intership. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, in my opinion."

_He's baiting me again, and I have no choice but to bite… _

"The opportunity of a lifetime, eh? And just what the hell do you mean by that?"

Fox presses his glass to his lips and swallows, a sliver of sun the sole barrier between night and day behind him. It sat on the surface of the bay, clinging to life, as if it could prevent the darkness from swallowing it whole.

"Well, for starters, you'll be in a sort of hybrid role here at _Titan Tower_. You'll be a cross between our engineering and media teams." He smirks, "For example, you'll be testing new technology and writing reviews of said tech."

Grayson maintains his ambiguity, prompting Fox's continuation.

"Strictly speaking, you'll really be doing what you do best, of course."

"That being?"

Fox throws his arms out wide, as if flabbergasted. ""Crime fighting, of course! And trust me … this city needs a purge when it comes to crime removal." He nods and drinks deep from his glass, allowing Grasyon to digest the words.

None of it seemed real. 'Expect the unexpected' was a favorite line of Bruce Wayne's, though. The sheer thought causes Grayson to bite his tongue. Mind racing, he lets logic lead the way.

"So you're offering me a cover while I hunt for Zucco? Is that it?" Fox finishes his glass of Crown, giving Grayson some time to continue the thought. "If so, that's a bit of a gamble. Hiring the ward of Bruce Wayne isn't exactly a great cover, especially if I'm just here for one man."

"Just one?" Fox leans forward. "What you're being offered, Mr. Grayson, is a cover, and a bit more. The rest will be easier to show you upstairs."

Grayson shakes his head and squints, the city lights in the dark now replace the CEO's once sunlit background.

_Getting late and haven't found a place to stay yet… better hurry this up._

"There's _another _upstairs? This place is just full of surprises, isn't it? Still don't know if you have me convinced, though. This all just seems so sudden and…" he stops speaking when Fox grins ear to ear.

"Well, let's see if I can't change your mind," the CEO says, standing.

* * *

_The Mobster_

Another puff of smoke wafts up to join the already lingering cloud. It clung to the dingy living room ceiling, ethereal in appearance and seeking escape. This evening it was enclosed within a small space, though, as the windows were shut. The room's entirety reeked of tobacco, the wallpaper stained yellow in the places it peeled. Like rotted skin. This decrepit place is one of many places Tony now called home, to his disgust.

"Angie, you just going to sit there puffing on that cigar or we going again," an ill-dressed woman in her mid-forties, lying next to him on the sofa asks. Claire, one of many women that often kept him company in the evening. Claire had once been a beauty, he believed. With curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and the bust to match… but smoking and drug abuse had taken its toll on her. What may have been a pretty face had become sunken and hollow. "Angie?" If she weren't such a good lay, he would not keep her around. "Angie? You hear me," she prods his shoulder with her foot.

"Yes, I hear you. Now shut up for a second," he snaps, straightening himself. The _Romeo & Julieta _he had selected today had a good draw, but he found the woman to be ruining the cigar's comfort. "Claire, why don't you head on out, actually. I'm good." He puts the cigar to his mouth and inhales deeply, aware of her expression.

"Are you fucking serious," she demands, starting to sit up. Once upright, she pulls her knees in and glares at him. Thankfully, she settled for a more subtle approach. "What's the matter? Is it something I did, something I said?"

"No, no it's just-"

The door to the room opens abruptly, two men in vests emerging.

"Oh shit, sorry Mr. Rossi. We didn't know you had anyone in here with you. We'll just uh…"

Tony waves a dismissive hand at them, "It's fine, boys. Miss Claire here was just leaving." He turns to her, his expression stern. "Weren't you, Claire?"

She nods her head rapidly. "Y-yes… yes, I was." She gets up from the sofa cautiously, as if the slightest movement could offend the newcomers. Then she adjusts a strap of her night gown back, so its back over her shoulder, and goes into the nearby bedroom to get dressed. She shuts the door behind her.

Tony's attention is given back to the two men. _His _men. Good, loyal men.

"What brings you two over so late?" He pulls on the cigar, examining the two younger men. He exhales and leans forward in his seat. "Nothing good, I'd imagine?"

"Nothing good, is right sir," one of them, Andy, says. "We got bad news from Nevada way."

_Nevada? We can't take any more heat from messing up those runs. _

Tony covers his face with his free hand and groans. "Shit, what is it?" Tony groans.

"Romano got caged."

Tony felt his stomach drop. _Sergio_, one of his favorite lieutenants…

"Let me guess, he was trying to pop cherries again?"

The two men exchange a look, then nod curtly. Andy continues with the dismal information, "Yeah. He got held up near Reno… according to Gus, they got jumped by some motorcycle kid. He uh, caught them off guard, I guess?" Andy looked as doubtful as he sounded. Likely, Gus and Sergio started the fight and lost. Or Sergio got sloppy with his dirty hobby. Regardless, now Tony had a decision to make. "We are going to post bail, sir. Right?" Andy voices the decision in question right on cue.

Tony sighs so loudly, he swore the room shook. Maybe he just should retire to a hideaway permanently with Claire or one of the other women. Any whining would be better than making decisions like this one every other night. But Tony Zucco had no regrets. Not for anyone or anything.

After studying his feet for half a minute, he looks up at the two men.

"Well … let's see if we can go get him out one last time…"


End file.
